Firesong
by Aliora
Summary: POST SERIES Robin and Amon flee to England, where they are drawn once again into battling for their beliefs.
1. Prologue

*I do not own any part of Witch Hunter Robin*  
  
The earth sang.  
  
There were no other words to describe it.  
  
The earth sang. A gentle chorus of welcome poured upward through the strata, originating in the liquid fire that churned at the core of the world. It hummed through layers of amorphous rock, spiraling past fossils, rippling within veins of metals and deposits of gems. The beat was the pulsing heart of the earth; the harmony, those who had come before. As it neared the surface the song changed, became faster and stronger. It crashed across the final barrier, thrusting into the concrete above, exploding through the crust of the world with a roar no louder than a sigh. It sought her. It found her. She had come.  
  
* * *  
  
A hand on her arm, a firm grip, pulling her from darkness.  
  
The light of the world.  
  
The song of the earth.  
  
Awake.  
  
"-bin!" She blinked. Her airline pillow obscured her view and she lifted a pale hand to shift it, revealing a cold-eyed Amon, his hand still on her wrist. She swallowed and sat up, the seat clicking forward in the absence of her weight.  
  
"Sorry?" she asked, still taking in her surroundings. She glanced out the window. "Oh-! We're here."  
  
"Yes," he replied, scowling. "And we have been for some time now." He stood and rummaged in the overhead compartment, forced to stoop in the confined space. She watched him pull down their meager luggage, the duffel bags now the sum total of their earthly possessions. He moved aside to let her pass but shook his head curtly when she reached to help him, leaving her no choice but to continue ahead. She made her way down the aisle, noting they were the last to leave the plane.  
  
The stairs were a bright metal, blinding in the sun, which in itself consisted of a few halfhearted rays providing weak light. It was a short walk from the plane to the arrival lounge. She was gazing at the squat, brown building as her foot left the last step, as she came in contact with the earth for the first time. A sound – a sigh? brushed the edges of her hearing before thrumming through her body. Her blood simmered. Her heart galloped. She was unconscious before she hit the ground.  
  
* * *  
  
Amon saw her crumple. The bags bounced down after him as he rushed to her side, his coat snapping in the sudden wind. 


	2. Through the Glass

So Witch Hunter Robin isn't mine. Don't rub it in.

Chapter One: Through the Glass

The rain thrummed on the window, streaming down the glass, distorting Robin's view of the street outside. She shifted on the padded window seat, unconsciously drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin on her dark skirt. 

_Raining, _she mused drearily. _It's always raining._ The films had the right of it. England was very wet. They'd been in the country a month now and she was yet to experience a fine day. The closest they'd come was the day they arrived – her mind shied from the thought. She still couldn't explain what she'd felt, her reaction, her weakness. Amon refused to speak of it. 

She sighed at the direction her thoughts had taken. Amon. Protector, guardian. For whatever reason he had taken this burden upon himself, essentially sacrificed his life to be her caretaker. They were destined - or doomed - to be together. Amon, it appeared, considered it the latter. 

She sighed again. Never a particularly chatty man, Amon had sunk into solemnity, speaking in monosyllables and only when addressed directly. Sometimes it seemed as if he couldn't bear to look at her, as if the very sight of her repulsed him, while on other occasions she caught him staring, an unfathomable look in his dark eyes. _Just like that day at the airport._ She inhaled to sigh once more, but caught herself. A smile tugged at her lips. _I'm becoming as gloomy as Amon,_ she thought. _Must be the weather._

Standing, she stepped away from the window and surveyed the room. It was spartan – they had to conserve their funds, but comfortably furnished with twin beds, separated by a worn beside table. On it rested a broken alarm clock, and a dodgy touch lamp that had woken Robin twice the night before by switching itself on at odd hours. Each time she'd started, confused by the sudden light, and each time Amon had still been awake, slouching in the chair by the door. 

The first instance she'd rolled over, blinked hazily, then sat up, drawing the covers to her chest. Unnecessarily, she'd realized, having forgotten she'd taken to wearing nightclothes. Her eyes rested on Amon's untouched bed beside her, then passed to where he sat vigil. He stared at her in the unexpected glow of the touch lamp.

"Robin?" he whispered. Her breath caught in her throat at his unguarded tone. She leant forward, the light reflecting on her unbound hair, making it a fiery halo.

"Amon. Why aren't you asleep?" He looked down, eyes shadowed.

"I'm keeping watch."

"But no one knows we're-" She fell silent. "Oh. I see." She reached over and tapped the lamp, settling under the covers. Darkness consumed the space, falling over man and girl, shrouding Amon's tortured expression. 

The second time he strode across the room and ripped the cord from the power point. 

Robin knelt next to the bed, blinking away the memory. In the morning she woke to find him gone, but that was hardly an unusual occurrence. He often took it upon himself to disappear, sometimes for entire days, returning only at night. When questioned, he told her only that he had been out, leaving no room for argument.

_No comrade's trust._

She felt very small and in need of something, anything to reaffirm the truth of her existence. Closing her eyes, she started to pray, but broke off, unable to articulate her thoughts. 

"Of course!" She opened the top drawer, reaching for that staple of hotels and guest houses - the Gideon Bible - but froze, unable to believe her eyes.

_Amon. Staring down the barrel of his gun. Eyes cold. _

_No comrade's trust._

_"I'm keeping watch."_

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling tears tingle in the corners. Opening them, she reached with hesitant hands for the object that signified Amon's hatred for her. The depth of his loathing for what she was. With trembling fingers she pulled his gun from the drawer.

Amon strode down the quaint side street, uncaring of the frightened looks the townspeople gave him. His dark clothes and black expression ensured his path was kept clear, but more than that was the tangible…coldness that permeated his surrounds. The newsagent told her neighbour in hushed tones how she'd had to unsnap the pound note he'd handed to her, as if it had been coated in a thin film of ice. The baker wondered how his prize azaleas had been ruined by frost when winter was still months off, and the innkeeper puzzled over the heating in room six, since it was working fine everywhere else.

He felt sick with self-loathing. Robin's face haunted him. Sitting up in bed, her eyes worried. Then, a moment later they were shuttered, but he'd seen the hurt. He witnessed her pain, unable to say or do anything. Always the same. He wished, suddenly and fervently, that he smoked. 

The inn came into sight. It was an old manor house, converted some years ago, and had a certain rustic charm to it. Ivy traced elaborate patterns on the red brick walls, the heart shaped leaves glittering. He realized, with some surprise, that the rain had stopped, and the sun was making a feeble effort to shed some light on the town. With the passing of the rain he felt a lightening of his spirits, and resolving to spend less time worrying about his emotional clumsiness he made his way to their room. 

He entered without knocking, as was customary, and stopped short at the sight of Robin, kneeling, gun in hand. Terrible images flashed behind his eyes, causing his heart to thud agonizingly within his chest, and unthinking he leapt over the bed, snatching the weapon. Wheeling, something inside him snapped.

"What do you think you were doing?"

Her eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, were confused.

"Amon! I –"

"Do you really think that is the answer? Am I really such an inadequate guardian that you would terminate your own existence to rid yourself of my protection? Do you so despise me?"

She couldn't respond, staring up at him in bewilderment. "I –"

Without warning, Amon felt a _push_, from deep within. The anger, the uncertainty and now this shock had all combined to set something free that he had hoped would remain bound forever. It tore through him with the force of an artic wind, and indeed, it seemed to take that form upon itself, whipping around the room with gale-like intent. The touch lamp slid from the table and crashed to the floor, narrowly missing Robin, who was braced against the sudden storm, trying to get to her feet. He tried frantically to restrain this frightening new skill but he felt control slipping from his grasp with every passing moment.

Over the whistling, keening wind he heard another more ominous noise – cracking. He turned with difficultly, arms up in a protective stance, peering at the window. Ice blossomed on the glass, spreading from the centre, building upon itself as it reached the edges. He whirled to warn Robin just as the window shattered, frosted shards flying past him. 

She had managed to stand and was reaching for him when a jagged chunk of glass sliced her cheek. He could only watch 

_Always the same_

as she pressed a pale hand to her face, crimson liquid seeping through her fingers. She gazed at him, emerald eyes uncertain. 

The wind lessened but to his horror he discovered he couldn't stop it. He felt weak, and dizzy – all he could see was Robin, bleeding, worried. He couldn't see her fear 

_Its getting dark_

but he knew it was there, it had to be, he was a monster

_A witch_

and as he fell to his knees, overcome, the last thing he saw were her tears spilling over, mingling with the blood as she leaned over him, mouthing his name.

Hmm. Sorry this has become so dark, it wasn't really my intention, but it just got away from me. Hopefully a more cheery chapter next time!


	3. Frozen Reflection

Chapter Two: Frozen Reflection

It was the cold that woke him. The chill had seeped through his thick coat and shirt, settling upon his skin before slipping through his blood and tissue and coiling within his bones. He rolled over, shivering. The marble was cold beneath his cheek. His hair pooled around his face, screening his view, but out of the corner of an eye he noticed the icy walls were steaming faintly.

Wait a moment…marble? Icy walls?

Amon leapt to his feet. Or, rather, he tried to. In his severely weakened state all he managed was a feeble shuffle. The outpouring of his Craft had sapped his strength, and it nearly beyond him to even stand. He raised a shaky hand to his aching head, recalling his unwilling initiation to power. Something had writhed and twisted inside his gut, squirming as if to break free. _And it had_, he thought in horror.

Robin!

Ignoring his various aches and pains, he pushed himself determinedly upright, taking in his surrounds. He didn't know where he was, or what had happened, but that could wait. Only one thing mattered – getting out. And that, it appeared, was going to be difficult. He was at the end of what looked to be a long tunnel, judging by the depth of its reach into the distant shadows. Beneath his boots the inky marble was flecked with quartz, gleaming in the glow of the icy walls. The tunnel was narrow and stifling, coming to an apex barely a foot above his head. Amon turned, seeking a possible exit behind him, but found only a solid block of ice. He sighed, breath misting, then, gritting his teeth, trudged off down the gloomy corridor, to a destination unknown.

He had plenty of time on his shambling journey to consider his whereabouts, but nothing his mind offered made any sense. Astral projection or the like was out of the question – despite his occupation, he had no patience with new age dogma. He considered it merely a money market, with the weak and gullible searching hopefully, helplessly for justification of their existence. They pursued this via self-help books, affirmation tapes and phony mediums, paying every step of the way. What they did with their own money was their own business, but Amon did not tolerate fools, and that was what he judged them to be. He had no intention of adding to their ranks.

What then? If not for the pervasive chill, he'd consider it a dream – a strange and vivid one to be sure, but still, just a dream. Unfortunately there was a certain clarity not present in the hazy reaches of the mind that nipped that idea in the bud. Time travel? No, now he was just getting ridiculous. He was obviously lightheaded from fatigue, entertaining all sorts of idiotic ideas. _Unless –_

Unless, he was –

The sudden light near blinded him. He wasn't expecting it. His steps had become a plodding monotony allowing him to get caught up in his thoughts – nonsensical as they were – and so he was forced to stop, blinking at the invasive brightness. As his vision gradually cleared he was able to ascertain a shadowed figure, moving closer. Adjusting to the light, he could see a man

No, it can't be

his dark hair pulled negligently into a loose ponytail, the ends of his white coat

I won't believe it

snapping in the brisk wind. His gray eyes crinkled at the corners, and the edges of his mouth

Impossible

turned up in a welcoming smile. The man stopped, a pace away. "Hello, Amon," he said, his voice

My voice

a low rumble. They stood, staring, one light, one dark, each a mirror image of the other. Incredibly, shockingly, Amon had just happened upon himself.

* * *

They remained, at an impasse, for several long moments, before Amon, dark Amon, the real Amon, recovered his wits enough to ask, "Who are you?" 

The other Amon's smile widened. "I'm you, of course. Just look at us! I can assure you, we're positively identical, even down to the scar on our –"

Amon made a chopping motion with one hand. He stepped forward, grabbing his twin's snowy coat, all exhaustion forgotten. Their faces, disturbingly identical, were now inches apart. "What," he ground out, "is going on?"

The other nodded sagely. "Yes, hmm. I suppose you would want to know. I would were I in your shoes. And just think, they'd fit perfectly!" Amon pushed him away, disgusted. _Idiot_. _Please tell me our personalities are _polar opposites.

His cheerful double straightened his jacket, then motioned for Amon to follow as he led the way through the room. Ignoring his confusion, he looked around. The walls had the same icy covering as the tunnels, but they'd widened, creating a cavern the size of a playing field. It was empty, save for a slab of ice, hovering vertical in the centre of the space. Roughly six feet tall and three feet wide, it reminded Amon of nothing more than a mirror, and as he got closer he found it did indeed show his reflection. _I look awful_, he thought, noting his haggard appearance. His face was pinched and turning blue, while his jacket had seen better days. The sleeves had been torn, no doubt by the broken window. Those shards had flown past him, straight towards Robin –

He'd been careful not to dwell on his ward or her injuries, knowing the guilt would rob him of his final reserve of strength, so he was unprepared for her image to appear in the ice before him. A slight gasp escaped his lips, causing the other Amon to smirk knowingly.

"You know," he began, almost casually, "she's pretty worried about you. I don't know if _I _would be," pausing to eye his nails critically, "if you'd torn a big chunk out of my – our- face with your Cr-" The sentence remained unfinished due to lack of breath, it having been knocked out by a swift punch to the belly. Amon's likeness lay panting on the cavern floor, while the original watched him impassively.

"How do I get back to Robin?" He asked abruptly. His double got to his feet, resting his hands on his knees for a moment. Presently he looked up.

"That's going to be difficult." Amon's temper was very close to exploding. He'd attacked Robin, passed out, woken up in a strange place, walked for who knows how long, was tired to the point of exhaustion and now this ingrate, this _idiot_ was telling him it was going to be difficult to get back to the person that mattered the mo-

"Why is that?" The curt tone would have sent anyone else running, but the other Amon was unfazed. In fact, he was probably familiar with it. He stretched, smiling mysteriously.

"Because you're dead."

* * *

A tic appeared in Amon's right cheek. This was new. He'd never had a tic before. He felt it twitch, once, twice, before settling down. He counted to ten – in three languages – before he considered himself calm enough to respond. 

"_Dead?_" he managed.

His counterpart nodded. "Well, yes, I mean, to a degree."

The tic reappeared.

"To a _degree_?"

The other Amon sighed. "I'm not sure how to explain it. Do you want me to try?"

"Please do."

"You are currently deep within your subconscious. For you to be here, it means you have undergone severe trauma and suffered enough physical damage to be close to death. Why are there two of us? You are you, your conscious, the image you show to the world. That is comprised of your outward appearance and your shallowest emotions, those which are kept closest to the surface. I am also you. I am your subconscious, at your deepest level. I am the man you are, the man you aren't and the man you desire to be. I am everything that is hidden and nothing that is revealed."

Amon took a moment to digest the information. "So you're me, and I'm you."

A nod.

"That means, your sense of humour is also mine?"

This time his – other half? – smiled, showing teeth. "You better believe it."

Amon sighed. _Damn. _Suddenly realization hit. "Close to death? I'm close to death? That means I'm not dead."

Subconscious Amon cocked his head to one side, considering. "Yes, that's right. I was about to tell you. Hmm, where was I?"

"Not dead," Amon prompted.

"Oh yes! That's right. Yes, well to get back, you know, to your body, your cold, lifeless form, the house of your so-"

"Get on with it." He supposed it was to be expected his inner self was so similar to Nagira. In many ways, they were two sides of the same coin.

"As I was saying, you have to have a reason to go back."

"Is that all? I can think of several."

"No, not just any reason. An ironclad justification of your existence, the very cause of the breath in your lungs. And, for safety's sake, you have to learn to control your Craft."

He started. His Craft…How would he do it? He'd only used it the once, and with disastrous consequences. And a reason for living…

He looked up, jaw set. "Teach me."

* * *

They worked at it, time oozing around them, until Amon couldn't tell if he'd been there a minute or a year. He fought to master the destructive splinter of ice that was concealed within, and learnt basic principles of control. Soon/after an eternity he could call and banish his element to the satisfaction of a most exacting teacher – himself. 

His subconscious self bent over, panting slightly, ponytail resting on one shoulder. "I'd ask your reason, but, of course, I already know. After all, she's mine, too."

Amon looked over. Gray eyes locked and understanding moved between them. His twin beckoned. "To get back, you have to pass through the ice." He surveyed the clear pane of frozen water. "Through the looking glass, then, Alice!"

Concentrating on the power within, Amon directed it at the sheet of ice. A crack appeared in the top corner, another at the bottom. Threads moved and grew until the surface was traced with spider webs, crackling and splintering until he broke through, the frosted remains of the panel sloughing around his feet, revealing a long rectangle of void. He peered into the darkness.

A comforting hand slapped onto his shoulder, and he winced as it landed on a scabbing cut, opening it again. He looked back.

"You know, I'd say 'come back soon' but it probably wouldn't be in the best of taste," his double quipped. For a second, just for an instant, both men smiled. One did so easily, the other with difficulty, as if the skill was rusty from disuse. Then Amon stepped from the light and hurtled back to life, his body, and Robin.

* * *

She was sobbing quietly, cradling Amon's pale face to her chest. "Amon," he heard her whisper, soft voice despairing. He spent a moment – breathing – inhaling her scent, savoring her closeness, appreciating her warmth. He opened his eyes. 

Thanks for the reviews, guys! I'd like to email you all personally but I haven't gotten around to it. Hmm, again with the dark. I actually planned a warm and fuzzy romance, dammit! Anyway, please review, it makes _me_ feel all warm and fuzzy inside!


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